untitled ramble

There has been a single goose alone in the middle of an emerald field near my house for a few days now. My heart throbs a little when I see him there, knowing he is at the end of his line. Not able to go further, to warmth, to rest. He's been left behind. And there he stands, its seems he's not even moved an inch, or even turned around,just standing. That goose has been on my mind and oddly, without much explanation, I feel like that. Alone, disconnected from where I'd like to be, whom I'd like to be with, or maybe, rather, who I'd like to be. Here's this creature, surrounded by beauty, but all alone. I wonder, if most of the time we do this to ourselves...put ourselves out in the middle of a place, where nobody else is, alone, then pity ourselves for it? I don't actually have an answer, just wanted to put somewhere, that this goose makes me ache, feel the pull of loneliness, perhaps imprints on me what I don't actually feel, by the pure heartbreaking beauty of it all.
Every day we have the choice to move forward, sideways or backwards...most days, forwards it is...but on odd days, when I see a lone goose, the heart goes a bit askew and heads the wrong direction. damn goose.

The Invisible Lives of Parents

I wonder often about the things in plain sight that I missed as a child. The stress in my father’s voice, the hurt in my mothers as they smiled and made our world right. The pain of a fractured marriage inflicted in front of us, that in our childhood daze, that bubble of self absorbtion, we missed, or maybe didn’t….is this what they call ancestral memory? Is it really just a blip stored in a small space in the brain that pops up…why smells and sounds can recall bad and good both? Why a flash of mom standing in our dads kitchen crying to herself, over an offhand remark about an advent calender suddenly surfaces. I think this was the first time I noticed my mother crying. I was already 7. They were already divorced. Surely she cried many, many times before that. Surely, my father, reading our bedtimes stories, blow drying our hair felt the angst of that break. I notice now, because I feel these thin lines of hurting.

I’m a mother now. I have pain, I have hurt, regret and resentments. All of us grown ups do. It comes with the territory of living in a world of fear and sadness. Don’t mistake me, there is beauty , too. Breathtaking, aching beauty to behold all the time. But as my children merrily play around me, tug on my pant legs, ask for bathroom help, need bathing and off to schooling….I smile and truly cherish them, hiding the turmoil in me. It does surface. They seem to not notice…this invisible life of parents. Invisible as a pink elephant. Not seen at all.

It seems now, so many years later, the pain callused over, I can feel and see what my family went thru. I seemed not to notice then. My marriage is not ending. We have the chips of bone that people get from flinging life at one another, sure. Our parents must have felt the yearnings of youth, their heads turning to look at a fresh face, the pull of temptation to get in the car and drive as far as the road would take them. They must have felt this as I do now from time to time. This means they also felt the intense joy of us kids, the blinding worry when we were hurt or sick, the sort of pained pride as we grew. I’m not sure where I’m going with this except that as I sit sometimes feeling like I will never get my life together at the age of 35, I wonder if this what it means to be invisible.

oh, back in high school

i feel like i should write. i see a blank page and nothing pressing my heart. ms staley, my high school creative writing teacher used to give us each a line from a poem or prose to stem from...i think i'll find one..i started to use the first poem that comes to me when i think of this...Wild Geese, by Mary Oliver, but felt the same stream of thought bubbling up that I've written so many times before over the years....page at random, please stand by..."I live and move here in my borrowed trappings;" from "Wintering" by Diana Kappel-Smith...

I live and move here in my borrowed trappings
straps cutting from that day long ago, bindings from another moment not as long ago
leave bruises
they are not my own cages i'm stuck in, though i do have my own i slip into from time to time
i take them from others
put that skin on my body, put that heart inside my own ribcage
these burdens of others, some intentionally laid, some i've taken on, however unwillingly
i live within
they shape my days and hours

well. a rocky stab at getting into the habit of writing more. of letting my mind go where it will.

ode to my firstborn

my boy turned 5 today. i also coincedentally saw a picture of him at 9 months. it still looks like him...he'll always look that way.the big round head, skinny legs, serious eyes about to break into a mischevious grin. this child, my Cole. today is for him. this kid grabbed me by the heart, i mean, every single valve and vein. i could not imagine this feeling i had when i set eyes on him. it was this incredulous moment of how could this beautiful creature come from joe and i? as he grew (and continued to be a crummy sleeper, i might add), his capacity for love and gentleness amazed me. his smile made every sleepless night bearable. it still does. only now, his smile gets him out of the tantrums he's learning to throw, the verbal jabs he tries to make, but knows are wrong, so he whispers them. this kid to whom I am the sun, the moon, the stars....his sense of humor is remarkably sharp and sweet, and he's stubborn as a post set in concrete. but this kid can love. this kid can show compassion and generosity and empathy. he humbles me so often in his spirit of "take this, i love it, but take it because you'll love it too." i love you, my son. i am so achingly proud of the little spirit you are. i take joy in your uniqueness, and revel in each new thing you learn and teach me. you are my firstborn, you taught me love. happy birthday, buggy.

a brief love note

this is about joe. i talk about my kids. i talk about my chickens. i talk about my food. a lot about my food. i should talk about my joe, my beloved, my compass. he pisses me off a lot. but mostly he just keeps me headed in the right direction. the first time i saw him, i knew he was military. his demeanor, his posture, his lack of smile. then i got to know him...and his eyes, his sparkly, mischevious eyes bore straight into my heart. frankly, he scared the crap out of me, but i couldnt' get enough. he won.
the man wrote me bad poetry that melted me. he took me to paris. he gave me two little boys, and brought with him his two older, wonderful children. he gave me his heart and i gave him mine. he has honor and nobility and is generous to others, with his time, and sometimes forgets to save some for me, but it's usually okay because i know he is lifting up someone who needs it more than i do....because I have him and God. i'm a lucky woman and for all our rocky moments, months, years, he's still the one i want next to me every night, who i want walking in the door every evening, and whom i want to bring me coffee every morning.

she felt like the fresh prince

Lynard Skynard told her to turn it up...so she did. Sweet Home Alabama rattled the speakers on her dilapidated, but much loved Volvo wagon, Velma. She got that rare feeling today that one only gets in early summer, though, summer was late this year. It had been a long, dark, wet Spring and everyone was getting punchy. It was July 3 and the sun finally shone.

She rolled the window down a little further, to inhale this feeling. The air vibrated with love and goodwill, excited people with campers and barbeques jammed the highway and it was okay with her. Her hair looked good, the music was loud. The girl, though not so much a girl anymore, felt young and beautiful. When this feeling hits, all the hard stuff just kind of seemed unimportant. And all of these thing, gathered behind her ribs in a bursty glee. It was good to be her.

a life like mine

yesterday, today looked grim. i had a sick kid. complete with puke...on bedclothes, clothes, carpets, couches....yesterday, i did load after load of laundry, carried a bleach bottle in a holster, snuggled little buddies and got prepared for another day like it, but maybe with me or my other son puking, also. But today, Mother's Day, I woke up, not having been awaken in the night to cries of horror at being covered in dinner, revisited, but somewhat refreshed....pit pat pit pat...baby one, piles in....taptaptaptap...baby two scurries to the other side, snuggles into his usual spot. thump, thump...daddy's already up, coffee is brewing, tv is cued for cartoons. Baby One gets antsy, up to watch a little curious george. Baby Two, my tiny Bean, burrows deeper, eyes still heavy and half dozes on my chest for awhile. This kid is almost 30 pounds but I won't move him for the world. His blond flyaway hair tickles my nose but feels like angels kisses and smells like sleep and last nights bath. this is what i was meant to do, i think. i'm the "joyful mother of little children." i'm best here, with my arms around a small child, who needs to hear my heart beat.
There was no more sick today. There was much needed sunshine, both kids in underwear only, playing in the sprinkler while i puttered in the garden, preparing for the pea growth spurt, labeling newly planted starts, my thoughtful husband taking care of our every need. the rain started dropping in big slow drops seconds after the chops got pulled off the grill for supper...
the kids are in the bath now, dad is taking care of it all for me. just leaned on the door frame, watching the birds skitter around the yard between drops, while eating a sweetly huge strawberry, glass of wine in the other hand. i could get used to a life like mine. i think i will.